


I Make Exceptions

by dont_sass_me_mate



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angsty Schmoop, Comfort Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:06:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dont_sass_me_mate/pseuds/dont_sass_me_mate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When young man Dipper Pines needs ink to cover his scars, both physical and emotional, a queer tattoo artist is there to help; however, every business man knows to make a deal, and Bill Cipher is no exception. (okay, this is an incredibly tacky one-shot I wrote at 1 in the morning thanks to a friend, and it's unbeta'd, however, if you need weird stuff, just read it).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Make Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

> MMMMMMMMMMM why did I write this. Please excuse traumatised Dipper and sex fiend-touch starved-business man Bill. I don't even mention his last name what is wrong with me.  
> Edit: Minor spelling/formatting errors have been fixed.  
> Hiraeth is a Welsh word with no direct translation that is related to grief, sorrow for the departed, yearning for the past, and nostalgia. I can imagine Mabel being a fan of words, so Dipper would honour her memory in some way like this.  
> Edit 2: Thank you to Ruby1334 for pointing out the need for paragraph spaces (if it is still difficult to read or anyone notices an error please tell me, and AO3s editing system is shite so I don't think editing made a difference :/).  
> Edit 3: I'm embarrassed this exists, but please be aware; anal sex is more than spit, grit, and determination (It's fine though, as if Bill would care)

It had been almost a spur of the moment decision; by Wednesday morning, when the bleariness of sleep darkened his mind with nostalgia and grief, the idea first came to Dipper. The thought had solidified in his mind and granted him a purpose by midday, by night the final sketch of his design rested by his bed, close enough to hold and ground him – but not close enough to suffice, and his skin and brain itched with impatience, bare from colour.

Which is how, on the Thursday night after his hopelessly boring shift at work was over, Dipper stood outside the only tattoo parlour he could find close enough to town, shivering. The thin shirt he wore did nothing to protect him from the brisk evening air, and his hair twisted at the back of his neck. Goosebumps broke out on his arms. He hesitated to enter the dimly lit building, the brightest lights being a red neon display that lit up the dark street with 'The Mindscape'.

Having only ever gotten a tattoo with his sister before (the matching Pisces constellation on their opposite shoulders, her sugar skull unicorn and shooting stars, his towering pine tree and ‘I want to believe’ quote, complete with glowing UFO) Dipper was nervous at going by himself for the first time. Of course he wouldn’t have to if… Then again, he thought, shoving the memory away, he wouldn’t be getting a tattoo at all if "it" hadn’t happened. But it did. Blinking back tears, the young man shoved the heavy door open and walked inside.

The first thing Dipper noticed was the warmth. It was warm in the parlour, and though fans rotated across the high ceiling, heat clung to him immediately, and the sudden change in temperature made him dizzy. To add to that feeling was the smell; bitter antiseptic beneath something thick and cloying, a sandalwood or vanilla mix, he assumed. The place was fairly simple he noticed, looking around, and small. The floors were polished black tiles, and the roof was painted a shocking lemon yellow. There was a large mirror on the wall opposite the main counter, and two large work desks covered in folios and drawings adjacent to that. He saw a small hallway that he assumed led to the tattooing stations behind the desks. The furniture was all black, though Dipper couldn’t find any pieces that matched.

The whole room had an acidic, drug-trip feel to it. He didn’t like it.

  
“Hello?” He called. His voice broke awkwardly on the second syllable, and he felt an intense wave of self-loathing wash over him. “Anyone there?” Dipper tried again.

  
There was the squeal of rusty hinges and a door opened up from the wall behind the reception desk.

  
“Not just anyone, quite an unforgettable someone.”

The high voice was accompanied by the click of heels on wood, and Dipper was shocked to see the person – man – now leaning against the marble partition separating heavy black counter from the smaller desks.

He was tall, taller than Dipper by a few solid inches, and wearing thin black boots, skinny jeans, and a poorly fitted red singlet that showed off lean arms sporting delicate tattoos. The man had darkly tanned skin and high cheekbones, and a cascade of blonde hair fell stylishly over one side of his face, leaving a single dark, slanted eye staring out. Dipper noticed his smile more than anything; thin lipped and all teeth, predatory and sarcastic. To say he was taken aback was an understatement, and Dipper felt the need to submit, run, hide… stay.

 

“I can see that.” The man cocked an eyebrow, and Dipper flushed but held his stare. “Do you do walk-ins?”

  
The man looked Dipper up and down, and his grin turned into a smirk before he returned to staring into Dipper’s eyes.

  
“No. But I make exceptions for the young and handsome.” The man paused. “Are you over eighteen?”

  
“I’m twenty one.” Dipper replied, offended. He had a round face, but seriously, how many under-eighteen-year-olds had stubble? That’s right. None of them (that he had seen).

  
“Wouldn’t have stopped me,” the man mumbled, and then louder, “Welcome to 'The Mindscape'. Follow me to the chair.”

He walked off briskly down the hall, grabbing a clipboard from the folio table, and Dipper quickly followed. A short walk and a sharp left later and he was sitting in a completely yellow room with pale blue furniture, again unmatched, on top of the tattooing table. He leaned over the edge, legs swinging nervously as he watched the man edit Dipper’s design.

  
“Why are you adding those?” Dipper quickly interjected, watching the man’s pencil move rapidly.

  
“Personal touch. Kinda like a signature. Adds more detail too, don’t ya think?” he explained quickly.

  
Dipper nodded, admiring the man’s tattoos. What Dipper first thought were letters were actually shapes, twisted and abnormal, occasionally blurring together. They fell down both arms, twirling at his wrists to create a bracelet effect. Dipper saw the top of a circle at the man’s lower neck, until his singlet fell forward and obscured it.

 

“I’m done!” The man crowed, snapping Dipper from his reverie. “Take a look kid, see if you like it even better.”

  
Indeed, Dipper admired the added details, and nodded again. “It’s perfect… really, I mean, perfect.” Swallowing a lump that had appeared in his throat, Dipper handed the drawing back.

  
The man sighed loudly.

  
“Okay then, I’m going to get prepped and all that, you lie down and take your shirt off.” With a wink, the man left the room, and Dipper slowly took his shirt off, body tensing as he lay down on the sticky table.

Lying on his right side facing the door, Dipper curled into himself slightly, forcing back a sob. He knew he wasn’t going to regret this, and with time, the tattooing experience would fade from his memory, inconsequential compared to what the tattoo itself meant to him. However, he hadn’t thought about how emotionally difficult this moment would be. He hadn’t felt this swamped with guilt since it had happened. Shirt dropping from his fingers to the floor, he felt warm tears gather at the corners of his eyes. The minutes ticked on, and Dipper was able to force his mind under control by the time the man came back, gloves on and carrying a tray full of equipment.

  
“Alrighty kid, just a minute more-“

  
“Don’t call me kid.” His voice was hollow, and he hated it.

  
This earned a one-eyed glare.

  
“I don’t do names, kid, so unless –“

  
As the man walked around the room, setting up and putting everything in its place, he noticed Dipper’s still body.  
He stepped closer to the young man, running a hand over the tattoo that took up most of Dipper’s back, a pine tree whose branches were filled with brightly inked birds. Dipper’s new tattoo would be only slightly larger than a third of that size, resting on the area between his bottom right rib and hipbone. Dipper shuddered from the touch.

  
“Roll over for me Pine Tree.” The man said softly.

  
Dipper did so, slowly, until he was facing the man. He looked up into the single eye earnestly and with so much raw emotion even the man’s stone heart softened.

  
“You can call me Bill.”

  
“Bill.”

  
A smile, one that looked gentle but hid power as a thought emerged in Bill’s mind.

  
“Tell you what Pine Tree. We can make a deal. Now, your ink is going to hurt, badly. But I see you’re hurting worse. I’ll let you have this tattoo, free of charge, no strings attached if – you give yourself to me straight afterwards.”

  
Dipper looked up in confusion.

  
“Think of it as a win-win. You get an ink-sesh you can forget about, and I can help rid you of that nasty memory that plagues your mind: at least for a while, and while getting what I want.”

  
Bill’s eyed gleamed gold in the bright austere of the room as he held out his hand, and Dipper saw a small blue flame inked into his palm. Thoughts rushed through his head but in the end he knew. He needed this. He needed to forget, just for a while, to soothe himself with a quick fix.

  
“Whaddya say?”

  
“It’s a deal.”

  
Bill clasped Dipper’s hand in his own and shook.

  
________________________________________  
The prepping didn’t take long, but Dipper allowed himself to relish in Bill’s lingering touches as he swiped ointment across his stomach. Slightly chapped lips pressed against his neck and Dipper sighed before the mouth left and the needle drilled into his stomach, creating lines and patterns across his pale skin. Dipper let his head roll back, and was greeted with open mouthed kisses every time the needle left his skin. By the end of it, he was panting, and Bill was increasingly touchy. He was hushed when he groaned as the delicate skin was treated and bandaged, and Bill pulled him to his feet when it was done.

  
“Finally,” he whispered into the corner of Dipper’s mouth, “My turn.”

  
“Wait. Just for a minute, please… wait.”

  
Ignoring Bill’s impatient look, Dipper walked back to the main room, leaving his shirt on the floor. He walked to stand in front of the large mirror, carefully peeling back his bandage. Bill stood against the counter, watching silently. Dipper gasped when the tattoo was fully revealed. The ink was bright and beautiful, the design flawless. A sun-bleached deer skull with intricate sketching and magnificent antlers rested on the trunk of a maple tree with brilliant red leaves twisting around the antlers. A cipher wheel bordered the whole thing, with his sister’s shooting star and a small triangle appearing randomly throughout, silhouetted by other random symbols.

The word "hiraeth" was written below it in flowing calligraphy. It was colourful and beautiful, and Dipper really did cry. He fell to the floor sobbing as he flattened the bandage back in place, tears rolling down his cheeks. Bill knelt behind him and wrapped his arms around the poor boy’s shoulders. Dipper spoke, his voice shaking.

  
“I came out to my parents a year ago. I told them I was bisexual on my birthday and they said they were so ash-amed they were going to th-throw me out,” he blubbered, “My sister, she-she was my tw-twin, she was furious, because she loved me and wanted our parents to love me too. But then the argument got really bad so she drove us away, away from the house, we were planning on going to our Great Uncles’ but it was raini-ng and the road was s-so slippery we skidoutofcontrol an-and she didn’t make it, she died next to me, she didn’t make it.”

  
 _Hiraeth; I long to go back_.

Dipper was beyond the point of no return, and he took great heaving breaths as he turned around and sobbed loudly into Bill’s shoulder. Bill held him closer, saying nothing, only running a hand through his hand, across his back, and down Dipper’s side. The tears subsided eventually; time enough for Dipper to be completely exhausted, slumping into Bill’s embrace. He didn’t know how long he had been there, on the floor, in the parlour, in Bill’s arms. He didn’t want to. He wanted to die. Bill pulled off his singlet, using it to wipe Dipper’s face free of tears. His touch was so gentle, so unnecessarily kind, that Dipper wanted to cry again.

  
“Deep breaths, Pine Tree. I’m going to make the pain go away.”

  
Bill helped Dipper stand, and led him to the back office slowly, carefully guiding him and shutting the door once inside.

  
“The deer represents a lot of things when inked into the skin,” Bill’s voice was soft, his hands softer as he removed the other boy’s remaining clothes. “It can mean regrowth,” As Bill pushed Dipper back onto a narrow couch until he was lying on his back, “Creativity,” Bill shucked his own clothes. “Beauty,” He spat into his palm (dousing the blue fire, Dipper thought numbly), touching Dipper to work him into a state of lust. “Love.” Bill breathed, his breath catching in sync with Dipper’s as he lowered himself onto the other man’s arousal, tears pricking his eyes as he stretched and burned. Dipper could relate. He thought his soul was on fire.

Placing both hands on Dipper’s chest, avoiding the bandage, Bill slowly raised himself up and back down, thrusting forward gently as he did. Dipper laced a hand in his hair, pulling him into a desperate kiss, all open mouths and hungry tongues as Bill continued to move, his pace accelerating. Dipper moved his hips to match with Bill’s until they were a mess of sweaty bodies and writhing hips, legs twisting for better angles. Dipper came first with a startled cry, biting his tongue and throwing his head to the side, ashamed. He was a mess of emotions and bodily fluids, but the pleasure he felt was immense, and he was grateful. He watched Bill for the last few minutes, the steady rise and fall of him, the way he panted in such a manner as to appear feral. When Bill finished, it was with a howl, head thrown back and thighs clenched. He lifted himself off of Dipper, and collapsed onto his stomach. Dipper hissed and Bill laughed, shuffling slightly to avoid Dipper’s tattoo.

  
“I can relate Pine Tree. I’ll be sore in the morning.” Bill leant in for a chaste kiss, but Dipper wrapped the other man in his arms to trap him there.

  
“Thank you.” He whispered into Bill’s shoulder.

  
“You’re welcome.”

  
“…”  
“You need to let go of me now.”

  
“Not yet Bill. Do you do cuddles?” Dipper asked tiredly.

  
“No. But for the broken-hearted ones, I make an exception.”


End file.
